


Seeing Stars

by darwinsdonut



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Background Nork, Childhood Friends, Film Major, I'm making this up as I go, M/M, Memory Loss, Modern AU, Recreational Drug Use, Traumatic Brain Injury, angsty, background flyoming, background southicut, carwash siblings, mentions of alcohol and bars, they meet at a coffeeshop, will get fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darwinsdonut/pseuds/darwinsdonut
Summary: "He holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars, this is all I think of."Wash is a tired film major with bad memory trying to get through finals when he meets Maine, a hot stunt double who's a lot nicer than Wash expects. He doesn't know they've met before, and he doesn't expect any of what happens next.





	1. Chapter 1

**“** He holds me in his big arms

Drunk and I am seeing stars

This is all I think of. **”**

* * *

 

It started in a coffee shop, because of course it did.

Wash had one more day of finals, and then he was free to fucking  _ perish  _ for the summer. It had been a long semester and the dude just wanted to rest. He hadn’t been to this specific Starbucks before, it was a bit too far into Hollywood for his usual budget, but today he’d been walking for… Three hours. Three hours of walking. And he just wanted a fucking coffee and probably to cry a little in the bathroom. Is it valid to break down in a fucking Starbucks? Did he really care?

He hazed through ordering- something. Vanilla latte, maybe. He saw something cheap on the menu, zoned out, and said words. “Smallest size.” “$3.14 is your total.” And he gave her a five. And, like an idiot, “Keep the change.” Because, you know, the $12.07 in his bank account allowed him to say things like that.

He just had.  _ One more day.  _ And then he was free.  _ To fucking perish. _

Wash sat down at one of the back tables and pulled out his phone, scrolling through Instagram, where all his old friends were successfully faking happiness. Ah- that one girl from prom was covered in facepaint dancing with shirtless muscles in the Bahamas. And there was his sister, talking about the capitalist wedding industry and her upcoming wedding in the Grand Canyon. Wash checked his own story- a picture of a duck, with the words, “my only friend.” He closed his phone.

“David?”

He walked up to get his drink and nearly ran into the block of solid muscle at the counter. The dude, a whole head taller than Wash, put a hand on top of Wash’s head and steadied him. “You good?”

Wash ducked out of the guy’s hand and fixed his hair. “Y-yeah.”

He grabbed his drink and walked back to his table and sat down to drink it, pulling out his phone as a crutch because Social Anxiety. He could still feel eyes on him as he scrolled back through his old acquaintances’ fake success, and looked up to see the green gaze of the stranger at the counter.

Holy shit- that guy was fucking  _ hot. _

Oh, no. Oh, no, why did he have to have fanfiction quality emerald green eyes? Bullshit! No hair but it looked  _ good?  _ That stupid wrinkly look at the corners of his mouth while he grinned? Square jaw, shoulders that could crush Wash? Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!

...And why was he staring at Wash?

Wash finally saw the guy lift up a cup from the counter.

Even from his table, Wash could see the name “David” written across it. Fuck. He looked at the cup on his table. He definitely didn’t order a venti vanilla frappuccino. How’d he fuck that one up so badly? Wash suppressed a sigh and stood, taking the drink with him and pursing his lips. He crossed back to the stranger.

“I’m- sorry about that. I just walked, like, twelve miles in the heat, and I’m in the midst of finals, and I have no idea what’s going on and- fuck, I’m rambl- here’s your drink.”

Wash turned to walk away, his tawny cheeks flaring crimson, and then heard, “Do you need a ride home?”

He paused, not turning but casting his eyes back toward the stranger. 

In about three seconds, he processed the facts: 1. He was tired. 2. He had no remaining sense of self-preservation. 3. This guy was hot. 4. He’d just walked twelve miles in the LA heat. 5. Nothing really matters and we’ll all die.

He turned around. “Sure!”

The guy grinned, that stupid grin that put wrinkles at the corner of his mouth and made his fanfiction-green eyes  _ twinkle.  _ “I’m Matt. Uh… Most of my friends just call me Maine. Long story. There’s a few of them over there, but I was kind of planning to ditch this place anyway. You care if I say we know each other?”

Wash stared up at him. “What, like, pretend we were roomies back in prison or something?”

“Maybe not that.”

“Okay. Sure. I’m gonna… Leave the ad-libbing to you.” And he finger-gunned, because he was a walking trashcan and had Social Anxiety.

Maine, mercifully, chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder, leading him to a table of laughing, charismatic individuals.

A woman that could break Wash by blinking at him glanced up around her messy ash blonde hair. “You find a friend, Maine?”

“Maine have a friend?” spoke a New Yorker with brown hair and an unintentional permanent winky-face. “Sounds fake to me.”

“Bold of you to assume we give a shit, York,” said another, with a hair floof that defied logic.

Maine cleared his throat. “This is Dakota, York, and CT. I work with them. Guys, this is David. We were on the same basketball team in high school.”

Dakota raised one eyebrow. “What was he, the waterboy?”

“Why, are you thirsty?” Wash said, and then clamped his mouth shut.  _ Never speak again. Never speak again. _

Dakota laughed. “For you? Maybe.”

And fifty shades of crimson he went!

“I’m gonna give him a ride home,” Maine said. “Catch up, maybe grab some dinner, you know. I’ll catch you guys back at the studio tomorrow.”

Wash glanced up- and it was  _ up-  _ at Maine. “The studio?”

“You go catch up,” the hair-floof one, CT, said. “Drive safe, Maine.”

And out the door they went. As they reached Maine’s car and Wash finally tossed his last remaining ounce of self-preservation to the wind, he added, “It’s Wash, by the way. I go by Wash.”

They got in the car, buckled seatbelts, turned it on. Maine smiled over at him. “Nice to meet you.”

Wash met the fanfiction-green eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

They started off down the streets, Wash giving the occasional direction and mostly rambling about how exhausted he was. About how he wanted to work with Project Freelancer as one of the writers, and how college had been hell, and how his mind was  _ obliterated  _ from the strain of college so far. Maine listened attentively, drove considerably safely for Los Angeles, and finally got him back to his shared apartment.

“I’ve talked about me this whole time,” Wash said. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“And you? What do you do? Where do you work?”

Maine chuckled. “Project Freelancer.”

“Oh, shit.”

Maine smiled over at him. “So I take it I can see you again?”

And  _ that  _ was a different tone than the rest of the encounter, but- dude was hot. Wash wasn’t going to say no. “Uh- s-sure! There’s-” he couldn’t make plans for lunch, he was broke. “Uh… Here’s my number.”

He wrote it down on his Starbucks receipt and passed it to the almost-stranger. Maine read it and then smiled up at him. “See you around, Wash.”

Wash exited the car. “See you.”

And he stumbled home in a daze, his mind entirely on fanfiction-green eyes and a wrinkly smile.

What the  _ hell  _ had just happened?


	2. Chapter 2

Wash wouldn't see Fanfiction Eyes Guy for three more weeks, and maybe that was a good thing. He knew they'd exchanged numbers or whatever- he'd done _something_ to ensure they'd stay in touch, but sleep deprivation brain meant foggy memory the next day. If they'd exchanged numbers or if he'd given Maine his or if Maine had even wanted it, Wash didn't know. He was just fuckin' here, finally done with finals, suffering through early summer and a work-study at his college. 

Then one day the door opened to his boss's office, which connected to his secretarial-type booth, and Wash froze at the booming voice: 

"GodDAMMIT Gates, get out here NOW you fucker-upper of productions- there is no goddamn call for this- Freelancer hasn't fucked with Charon motherfucking Industries in-" 

Maine froze midsentence at the sight of the tiny, tired Wash who sat in the corner of the office gaping. Fanfiction green eyes, goddammit, and a mouth so foul Wash was a little bit in love. Wash reflected, in that moment, that morosexual was the attraction to stupid people, but he wondered if there was a name for being absolutely stupid in who you're attracted to. He was the type a morosexual would love: he was fucking stupid. Here was this beefsteak dude, the machoest of the macho men, who could probably kill Wash with a flick of his pinky toe, cursing loudly and obscenely, and Wash? Was twice as in love as when they'd last met. 

What kind of idiocy- 

"Shi- sorry," he said, stumbling to drop the umbrella he'd held overhead. "I- fu- sorry- I'm so sorry- I didn't know- you- but you _work_ here?" 

Was Dwayne Johnson's body-twin seriously blushing right now? What the actual _fuck_ was happening? 

Wash, of clearer mind and no less idiotic for it, took a sip of his chai latte. "I'm here for a workstudy to pay for school. Uh... I can take a memo for Mr. Gates if you'd like? Just a suggestion, but uh, maybe don't cuss out my boss. He's kind of a dick." 

"I..." Maine cleared his throat. "Again, I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were- anyway. Just tell him to leave PFL alone; the lawsuit is dropped and the harassment charges have been closed, but that doesn't mean to give us a reason to bring them back up." 

Wash, a socially anxious bean, as always, finger-gunned. "Got it, big guy. Uh... Sometimes I wish I didn't speak." 

But Maine, thankfully, laughed. "I was mute for a time- let me tell you, I'd rather say stupid shit than not be able to talk at all." 

"Huh, really? Maybe you can mute me. Wait- I- this is the most unprofessional and least suave I have ever been in my life. I am so sorry you had to find me here." 

Maine laughed more, a boisterous sound that Wash couldn't help but grin back at. Maine approached the smaller office. "I'm not. I've been meaning to give you a call, guess I was too much of a coward. I just wanted to ask before I did- was that a date kind of situation or a friend kind of situation?" 

Wash, oblivious, idiot that he was, stared for a long moment before mustering a half-acceptable, "Are you gonna beat me with that umbrella if I say 'either'?" 

Maine's eyebrows rose, and then a grin crossed his face. "Do I come across as a dangerous homophobe?" 

"You DID come in here trying to murder my boss. That's not a homophobe thing, but dangerous, yeah." 

"I wouldn't hurt you." Maine winked. "Unless you asked." 

Wash almost spat chai latte all over the fucking desk, and Maine laughed. 

"So, a date thing?" 

"Uh- uh- y-yeah- sure." 

"Even though I came in here trying to murder your boss?" 

"Don't say it like that. I'm an idiot with no sense of self-preservation, but at least let me pretend to be oblivious. ...You wouldn't happen to be morosexual, would you?" 

He laughed. "No. And I can't wait to see what brilliance is in that mind. Meet me at the Smoothie King on Ninth, tomorrow night at six. Work for you?" 

"Yeah, that's fine." 

He walked out. _What brilliance is in that mind._ Wash smiled sweetly; oh, if this guy only knew what a real dumbass Wash was. 

* * *

Some irrelevant realistic stuff happened for the next thirty-six or so hours but this is a fanfiction so it's not really worth getting into. Point is, Wash existed, blooped from one place to the next, and survived long enough to meet Maine at the Smoothie King. 

He arrived at the Smoothie King with a five-dollar bill he'd happened to find on his apartment steps. Maine wasn't there yet, and maybe that was a good thing. It gave him time to scrutinize the menu for the cheapest smoothie and order it in the smallest size and come up with a decent reason for ordering such a tiny smoothie. And then anxiously craft multiple scenarios in his head for how he would inevitably fuck this up. 

He was going to absolutely unintentionally ruin this date or his name wasn't David Washington. 

...Wait, what was his name-? 

"Wash!" 

Maine waved from the door, and informed Wash he'd be over after ordering. Wash, sitting with his tiny swirl of papaya and smoothie-whatever, smiled and half-waved like a worse version of the penguins from that awful Madagascar movie. He didn't even have an excuse to be brain-dead today. He hadn't had work, had slept fine last night, and had neglected and procrastinated most of his boring adult duties. He was just... Wash. And that meant being attractive to morosexuals. Which Maine claimed not to be, but here we fuckin' were. 

Maine came over and sat down across from Wash at the little round table with ridiculously high chairs, which were just proportionate for Maine. 

"I think my thumb is bigger than your smoothie." 

"Hot. ...Fuck." 

Maine choked on air and set his smoothie on the table. "Oh." 

"I don't know why I'm like this." 

Maine laughed. "At least you're honest." 

Wash ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I could say it's that; I just- have like, three factory set responses to anything. Uh, Fuck, and Hot." 

Maine's eyes seemed to shine. "Well, hopefully before the evening's out we'll get you talking." 

Wash laughed. "That might be _worse,_ but you're welcome to try." 

Maine glanced around. "So- any idea why I brought you here tonight, Wash?" 

"The last time someone started out with that, it was a sugar daddy thing. Which- from you, I'm not opposed- and I shouldn't have just said that- I'm not really looking for that." 

Maine's head tilted. "Who was the last guy to ask you that?" 

"Uh..." Saying Samuel Ortez, talent scout for Charon Industries, seemed like a pretty bad idea, given the thing with Mr. Gates yesterday. "Some old creep that sponsored a TEDTalk." 

"...Huh. Weird situation to get yourself in." 

"Unique," Wash agreed. "Why _did_ you bring me here tonight, then?" 

Maine stared at him like he wanted Wash to already know, but Wash hadn't a clue. Some really hot seven-foot-tall stunt double had asked him out to a smoothie, and he wasn't going to say no, given how beneficial their previous interaction had been. But other than that, Wash couldn't account for Maine's interest or generosity _at all._

"I want to show you something," Maine said. "After smoothies, of course- maybe that'll give us time to help you open up a bit. It's nearby, walking distance even, and it'll be a crowded place, so you don't have to worry about me doing anything shady. I know you think I'm dangerous." 

Wash chuckled lightly. "No big deal. Ah..." He cleared his throat. "You should know the reason I don't talk much is that I have notoriously poor memory. I don't even really remember things that happened last _month,_ so when people start talking about childhoods and high school and all that, I don't have much to contribute to the conversation. Or- or fandom interests. I'd like to geek out about Star Wars, but all I really remember is that Han Solo would be hot if he wasn't a furry." 

Maine coughed to keep from choking on his smoothie. "Right." Something painful gleamed behind his amusement at Wash's Star Wars commentary, and he forced a smile. "We'll keep the topics light. Things you _can_ remember. I just want to help you open up." 

Wash, knowing this could be good for him, knowing very little about this guy, knew he had to ask. "Why?" 

"Because... Because I like you. It's as simple as that." 

"Huh. Okay." 

"So, what's your favorite color?" 

Wash thought for a minute. "Yellow." 

And then the evening filled with chatter. 

* * *

All you, the reader, really need to know about the talk in the Smoothie King is that Wash and Maine finally connected, and it was pretty fuckin' gay, and after a while Wash didn't even have to try. He laughed easily and there were a lot of joking undertones, and he was pretty sure the flirting was imagined but, fuck, it was nice to think about it. So that's what happened there, and then around eight, they threw away long-emptied smoothie cups and headed out into LA. 

The streets were bright with night-life and people and the last rays of sun, which would continue to lighten the west for another hour, since it was the middle of summer. Maine led Wash down Ninth, and Wash, feeling somewhat better after eating fruit for the first time in like twenty-seven years, kind of enjoyed it. Maine didn't talk as they walked; he seemed a bit more reserved in the crowded streets, and communicated only by glancing at Wash from time to time or guiding him with a hand on his shoulder. They passed a few blocks, and then Maine entered a Shell station. 

He stopped on the candy aisle and Wash looked up at him, wondering, briefly, if Maine had forgotten Wash was even there. Maine's hand moved toward a pack of Smarties, and paused as Wash said, "Er, Maine? What are we- what are we doing here? Just getting snacks before we go somewhere else?" 

It was then he noticed the tension in Maine's jaw, and the bigger man turned toward Wash with heartbreaking eyes, fanfiction-green also fanfiction-deep. 

Maine stared for a long moment, and then, "You _really_ don't remember?" 

Wash just stared back. He had no reply. He didn't know what this guy wanted him to say. 

"Fuck." Maine turned back to the pack of Smarties. "They said it would be hard, but I didn't expect... Anyway." 

Wash, helpless, offered, "If I can... You know, do anything to help, just, tell me-" 

"Nah, it's fine." Maine cleared his throat, making Wash twice as baffled and thrice as distressed. Maine grabbed the Smarties. "We'll just... Move forward. Make new memories." 

Wash, remembering his earlier comments about his notoriously bad memory, felt horrible now for not remembering jackshit about this guy. He was surprised he even remembered meeting him at the coffee shop that day in the last chapter. But he still felt like he'd remember this guy if he'd seen him before- the fanfiction green eyes, as cliche as it all was, just seemed like eyes you didn't forget. And now he was anxious because _what the hell had happened with this guy in the past? What did he not remember?_

They departed from the Shell with Smarties and a Coca-Cola each. Maine led them further down the streets, to a less populated part of town but still on the good side of LA, or what existed of it. They reached an old strand of railroad track, Wash's mouth tasting like Smarties and Coke, and he squinted up at the stars beyond the smog. It was darker here, but no part of LA was _dark_. Not like the country- but, again, Wash didn't really... Remember ever being in the country. His brow creased. He wished he had better memory. 

They stood on the tracks for a moment in this quiet hermitude, hearing the whoosh of cars passing down nearby streets and the movement of the city at night. Wash breathed in the fumes of car exhaust and railroad rust. He could still feel Coke on his tongue even after swallowing. And Maine- Maine, green eyes up on the night sky, Wash felt him there as tangibly as if he'd reached out and touched him, though several feet separated them. 

"I'm sorry I don't remember," Wash said. "I haven't really... Remembered much of anything. In a while. I can remember big things, like my name, and what school I go to, and who I work for, and what I'm supposed to be doing each day. I just... Forget a lot. It's like my brain is fuzzy. Like- like a TV with too much static, it's not really clear, but it kind of makes sense." 

"Hey." Maine was at Wash's side in two strides, setting a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay." 

Wash looked up at him, and saw the look in Maine's eyes and knew what was about to happen, and he knew he didn't have any reason to accept it, not really, and it should have just been lust but it wasn't, and then Maine had a hand on Wash's back and was pulling him closer and Wash was letting him and- 

And then he was drunk under lips that tasted like Smarties and in the warm grip of arms that felt like home and Wash didn't have a clue why this all made so much sense but he knew he didn't ever want to leave that moment. He savored every moment of it, seeing stars even after he closed his eyes, and, goddammit, love didn't happen that fast, not outside of movies, but Wash couldn't think of any other explanation. He didn't feel fireworks or butterflies or any of that. 

He felt like he was full of stardust instead of static. 

He felt like he was home instead of lost. 

For a moment, all he felt was Maine.


	3. Chapter 3

The sunshine danced through the window, casting dust particles and beams of hazy nostalgia through Wash's memory. A room like this... The circular green rug, the pale buttercream walls, the gray jacket hanging from the door- 

No. 

A room _just like this._

Huh. 

Weird. 

Wash rubbed his head, winced as his hand ran over a linear bump just over his temple. What the hell... 

The night before came back in flashes that didn't make sense. A rumble in the ground, like... Like thunder, but he hadn't felt thunder in- 

A flash of light like a car accident, the smoke of sudden motion, some turbulent emotion rifling through it all- the impact- the rocks- someone shouting _DAVID!_ \- 

He lay in the spring colored room and wondered what the hell it all meant. His memory swam behind his eyes, mingling with the weird dreams he'd had, plum and eggplant and pearl and... Where was he? Why was he- what was- what happened to his head? What the fuck... 

Fuck it. Self-preservation hadn't been on the table in years. This bed was comfy, and he was going back to sleep. Reality, and all its pain and turmoil and confusion, could come later. 

"Wash? You awake?" 

The voice came from his feet, or somewhere by them. He glanced down, his eyes burning against a bright light. They focused- big dude, bald, green eyes, sitting in front of a computer. "Matt-" 

The green eyes flashed. "David-?" 

"No- no, it's Maine, isn't it?" Something caught in Wash's throat, and something hollow ached to see the pain in Maine's eyes as he said it, but he was... So fucking confused. "What happened?" 

Maine swallowed heavily, sitting back in the tall chair he sat in. "Hmph. You... Don't remember anything from last night?" 

"No." 

Maine clasped his hands together. "We... Had an argument." 

Wash's brow drew together, and- _ow._ That fucking hurt. It pulled at the gash in the side of his head. He forced his face to relax and faced his boyf- 

_Maine._ His brain was so fucking muddled. He needed to get back to his apartment and recoup, he needed- anyway. 

"About what?" 

"You... Remembered something. The wrong thing. Well- it was something that happened, but not how you remembered." 

Wash forced his face to stay relaxed, realized he was in the guy's bed, sat up and sat back. "What the fuck does that mean?" 

"You... Remembered us meeting at a bar a few years ago." 

"A few years-? A few years ago, I was _eighteen._ I wasn't drinking in bars with- with you-" 

"No, you weren't drinking. You were..." He cleared his throat. "Hear me out on this, _please._ Don't run away again." 

_Don't run away again._ Something in the words struck hollow chords in Wash's brain and he winced inwardly. He didn't like any of this. He didn't like that he was in the dude's bed. He didn't like that the crackfic feel of the fanfiction had been replaced with this serious and doubly angsty vibe. He- he wanted to go back to last night, at the Smoothie King. When things were fun and Maine's eyes were still "fanfiction green." That _was_ last night, right? Right? 

"You were there to fight." 

"What?" Wash almost laughed. "Fight _who?_ Do you see me? I'm- I have arms like fucking noodles! I have _skinny cheeks!_ I'm not- I don't fight people in bars!" 

"You weren't always like this," Maine said softly, and then clicked a button on the mouse. "Just... Listen." 

Dobie Gray's "Drift Away" played and Wash's brain added some static. Give me the beat boys and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock n roll- 

_"Hey, kid, aren't you a little young to be in a bar?"_

Shoving a well-meaning plaid figure out of the way. Glass clinking. The smell of sweat and booze. 

The spring-colored room glared, the green eyes begged forgiveness, Wash's mind- he wasn't back there, he didn't feel it physically, but as the song progressed, he heard it. He saw it. He remembered. 

_"Where is he?"_

_"Ah, c'mon, kid, you know I can't-"_

_"I said, where is he?"_

The backroom. The blood. The green eyes looking up. 

And then blank. 

Wash stared at Maine. "What-" 

"Just wait. Wait for the bridge." 

Wash blinked at the man at the end of the bed, and listened, and remembered, and, fuck- 

He remembered being outside of the bar, in an alley, some hulking figure going ham, absolutely obliterating him. Pain worse than Was could remember ever feeling- not that he remembered much- 

"What the fuck! It was _you-"_

"Please, Wash, listen to me. It wasn't." 

"What the fuck- what- what is even _happening?"_ Wash's voice cracked and he hated it. "What the fuck? Who _are_ you?" 

Maine looked strangled. "David." 

He knew something about that tone, about that voice sounding those syllables, felt like fucking _home_ to him and he fucking hated that. What the hell- what was- why- 

"Please, listen." 

And he knew he would, but he didn't want to- he wanted to get out- 

"Don't bolt again. Let me explain this time. After last night, I can't leave you alone." 

Last night- the train- Wash had been so pissed, he hadn't heard it coming- the impact- Maine had knocked him aside, his head splintered on the rocks- "It wasn't me in the alley that night. It was the guy that did this to me. Some homophobic idiot- that's why we got away from that town." 

Wash, who had been confused as all hell by the flashbacks to some rural countryside, who couldn't really remember anything before LA, who was tired of feeling like an idiot for not remembering shit, just stared. "What the hell does that mean?" 

"We're from Pine Bluffs, Wyoming. We met during your last semester of senior year. It was... Chaotic." 

None of this rang any bells. Maine saying "David" was familiar. The bar scene was familiar. Everything he said now didn't strike at all. 

"I had come back on honorable discharge from the military. Medical, to be specific- diagnosed with asthma after some incidents with poison overseas. You went for a lot of walks because your dad was an idiot homophobe and your mom drank too much before she died." 

"Died? I just talked to my mom-" He broke off. When had that been? Just a month ago- no, that had been his aunt- a swell of panic surged- 

"You met me because you accidentally walked to a bar a few miles from your house, and I didn't want you walking home alone. We spent a lot of time together. That night at the bar had been... After one of our good days. You tried to beat the shit out of the guy that did that to me." 

Wash just stared. "Maine, whoever you are, I- I want to believe you. I do. I don't remember anything about my past and I don't even know why I don't. And I know there's something familiar about you, and I remember that night at the bar, but it's just... Not clicking." 

"That's what happened last night. I- I got desperate to prove it. I was stupid. You started to- anyway-" 

"I started to what?" 

Maine stared for a long moment, and Wash hardened his voice. "I started to _what?"_

"To break down." 

"Well, it's a lot to fucking process, don't you think? That someone who's a complete stranger is some long lost high school sweetheart or some bullshit? That my mom is dead and my dad hates me? That I'm from some town I don't even- I don't even remember?" 

"Wash-" 

"No. Fuck it. I'm sorry, but I'll call you if my memory comes back and you're telling the truth. I'm not mad, but... I can't stay and listen to this." 

He walked out. 

He tried to forget. He hurried down the LA streets, grabbed a cab when he could. Pushed it down, pushed it out, pushed it far and away. Pretended, pretended, pretended. It was nothing. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. 

He remembered. 

Not everything. 

He reached his tired apartment. He put his key in the lock. He saw flashes of climbing through the broken screen of a trailer window, into a blue-hued bedroom all a mess in the darkness. He saw flashes of walking creeks with a seven-foot companion who shone like the sun. He- 

He wanted, more than fucking anything, to forget.   


* * *

  


It had been... Two days now. Wash was writing things down again. He had an old composition notebook where he'd tried this before, but, naturally, he'd forgotten to keep up with it. Documenting things after the fact was just as difficult as remembering them five seconds after they happened. Okay, it wasn't _that_ bad, but... Wash's memory wasn't pristine anymore. _Anymore?_

He finally gave up. 

He called his sister. 

It took two tries and she still didn't answer. Half an hour later, he tried again, no answer- and then two minutes after that she called back. 

"Hey, Wash, how's it going?" 

She sounded... Relaxed. Happy. Wash's Social Anxiety suggested he not be a fucking bother and fuck up her day. The green eyes and smooth hands that kept haunting his thoughts demanded he do it fucking anyway. 

"Lina... I have to talk to you. It's important." 

"Oh. One minute, then." 

Wash waited and debated hanging up, just canceling post. Just, yeet himself out of existence, throw himself into the sea, never make a fucking phone call again- 

"Okay, hey, Wash, what's up?" 

Wash took a breath. "I met... This guy." 

Carolina laughed. "Oh, is that all?" 

"No. His name is Maine." 

A pause. And then a sigh, and, "What happened?" 

She knew. She knew _something_ and he hated it. 

"He hasn't told me much, I kind of ran... Lina, are we from Pine Bluffs, Wyoming?" 

"Yes. We... Were neighbors growing up. We made a blood-siblings pact one night. The whole cutting-open-hands and everything." 

"Yeesh, that's unsanitary." 

Half a laugh from the other end. 

"And... What happened after that?" 

"Okay, Wash, here's what you're going to have to do. Wait until after this phone call, and then go to your room and look between your mattresses. What you find should... Jog your memory. But for right now, what happened with Maine?" 

Wash went through the painful process of reliving the whole fiasco. He tried to Dank It Up but not even bad meme references could relieve the stress of that night and the following morning. 

When he finished, meaning once Carolina had all the details of what happened and the clusterfuck it had created in his head, Carolina said, "Wash... You and Maine had something special to you. Go look between your mattresses and you'll understand. Maine can... Probably help you more than I can." 

Wash hung up. 

He didn't want to, and he hated feeling any kind of aggression toward Carolina, but her words weren't the ones he wanted to hear. He didn't want to see Maine ever again. He hated the way Maine made him feel, he hated the nostalgia and the sense that Maine was home and all of it. 

The walk to his room was made with hollow legs and a vague sense of dread. He lifted the top mattress and peeked underneath. 

His eyes didn't want to process what he found. For a heartbeat, it was nothing- an old receipt, a piece of garbage, something like that- 

But he pulled it out and looked at it and he knew. 

He felt it all over again, the train flipping, the rain breaking through the steel, the smell of the blood and smoke. The blurred vision, water and blood and tears, the blackout. 

He didn't remember waking up in the hospital. 

He didn't remember why he was on a train or what happened after the hospital. 

He just remembered that moment, in a toppled train-car split in half, as he bled out through a damaged skull and then- 

He remembered, just before he'd lost consciousness, wondering where he was. 

Wash stood and dropped the mattress back on the train ticket. He shook his head as if he could shake out the bad thoughts. His breath was short, his heart was pounding, he didn't want to fucking do this today. Anything- _anything-_ else was preferable. 

He sat down in front of his laptop and threw the bad memories out of mind, till all that remained was empty. 

_YEET._


	4. Chapter 4

Yellow. 

Yellow like the soft beams of sun that fell through the window. Yellow like the roots of Wash's hair after a fresh treatment of dye. Yellow like buttercream, yellow like daffodils, yellow like daisy eyes that smiled in their ivory halos. Yellow- 

Yellow like lemon cake, in this half-empty cafe on a quiet drizzling dawn after a long night. 

Yellow like the train ticket. 

And then: Blue. 

Wash's eyes focused through his sleep-deprivation and angst and there was a shirt of deep blue fabric in front of him. He looked up. Olive complexion, sparkling brown eyes, curly brown hair- probably the most open and sunny face Wash had ever seen. Sunny, but not yellow. He was Blue, but like a peaceful ocean Blue. Predawn after a dark night, the first hints of dawn, that kind of Blue. He made associations between sad and blue illogical; blue was a happy color. 

Or maybe Wash was sleep-deprived and this guy's smile was something to hold onto, but he'd take it. 

"Hi!" 

Wash blinked. "Uh, hey, kid. Do we know each other?" 

"Not yet, but strangers are just friends you haven't met yet!" 

"Do you often approach random strangers in cafes at 7:30 in the morning?" 

"No." He leaned closer over the table he'd invited himself to. "You seemed sad. And no one should be sad while eating lemon cake. Lemon cake is happy." 

Wash couldn't disagree with that logic. "I... You're right." 

"I know! That's because my friend Kaikaina told me lemon cake is happy, and Kaikaina is yellow so she must know." 

Wash's color symbolism bullshit from just a few minutes ago made him look up at the stranger's bright smile again. "Yellow?" 

"She always wears yellow and it is her favorite color." 

"Funny. Mine, too." 

"Then you should not be so sad! Yellow is a happy color." 

"Yellow is a color for fools. Blue is... A happy color." 

"Like my shirt! Do you know what this shirt is made of?" 

Wash cocked an eyebrow, putting a fork to the lemon cake. "Hmm?" 

"Best friend material." 

Wash almost choked on the bite of lemon cake, and then looked up at the guy. "Are you always this forward?" 

"I like making friends. Oh! But I did not introduce myself! My name is Michael J. Caboose. I am nineteen years old and I work at an aquarium!" 

Wash almost smiled. "I'm... Wash." 

"That is a good name. Do you like washing things?" 

Wash thought about his messy room and the number of first-draft essays he'd submitted. "Uh... Not really, no." 

"That's okay! Washing things can be boring. And it can take a lot of work. I forget to wash things a lot. But that is okay, because you can always wash things later!" 

Wash had to actually smile now. "You're really trying here, aren't you?" 

"Yes, I am. I do not like to see people sad. Would you like to go to my aquarium after you finish your lemon cake?" 

Wash had nothing to lose, and everything to gain, and someone who made blue a happy color was certainly promising. 

"Huh. Sure." 

"Neat!"   
  


* * *

  


Summer was yellow and blue. 

The harsh garish sun, the pale golden beaches; cotton candy skies and endless waves. The little radio on Wash's desk was blue; it was a relic from a past decade and the music that came out of it was yellow, according to Caboose. The vibing soft rap energy that pigmented his messy living room while Caboose drew crayon pictures and talked about nothing and watched cartoons, the butter-hued beats and honey vocals, rough voices growling raps and soft backups cooing harmonies. They lived in a summer unique from the time of year and July stretched the sky outside, blue and yellow. 

And in between the shades of summer, green eyes glared in memories and begged recognition in dreams. 

His composition notebook kept him steady, and regular calls with his sister helped Wash manage. Caboose, Wash learned, had a fuzzy brain, too- but it was different. Wash's blue boy had an impeccable memory, somewhat twisted from the reality of things but vibrant nonetheless. He kept Wash grounded as the workstudy went on. He was exactly what Wash had needed, and if there was any kind of God, Caboose had been heaven-sent. Wash was stretching muscles, documenting, actively remembering. Caboose stuck by his side when possible, and it helped. It helped to know he wasn't alone in being a mess, and to see just how fucking happy Caboose was anyway. He really was best friend material. 

It was one day that Caboose was back at the apartment he shared with Kaikaina and her brother that Wash finally gave in. 

He still had the number; it was tucked away in a disused school notebook from a couple of months ago. He opened the notebook and skimmed to the sticky-note, and then dialed. 

He picked up almost immediately. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, it's... It's Wash." 

Silence. And then: "Hey. Did- did you need something?" 

"Can we meet somewhere? I think we need to talk." 

Wash's heart pounded as he sat on his bed, phone pressed to his ear, staring into the room, waiting, waiting. It seemed an eternity before, "Anywhere you'd like." 

"How about the Waffle House on Handeres? That's, like, two streets over from where I live-" 

"Now?" 

"If you can?" 

"On my way." 

And the line went dead. 

Wash swallowed a dry throat. Fuck. He pulled on his hoodie and headed out. 

From dreams, Wash had remembered some things. He'd remembered laughing drunk in a field with a smile that stretched in a moonlit face. He'd remembered waking up to a big hand holding his and someone soft and big behind him in a spring-colored room. He'd remembered lips on his, tasting like sweat and beer, pressed to the wall of a dingy bar in the middle of nowhere. He'd remembered a lot. And it was scattered fragments with little context and few actual conversations but he'd realized Maine had been someone important to him and he'd somehow forgotten that. 

He couldn't go back to whatever they'd had, because he didn't know what that was. But Maine felt like home to think about, and yellow songs made Wash miss Maine's touch, and he saw a documentary about bumblebees and didn't understand why he'd cried and fallen to pieces under Caboose's warm blue care. 

And summer was yellow and blue, but as Wash reached the Waffle House, he felt that summer- summer was supposed to be _green._

He walked in, sat down, ordered a coffee, and waited. 

When Maine entered twenty minutes later, Wash saw green eyes and knew he was right.


	5. Chapter 5

Wash's thoughts kept him awake that night- and not for any of the reasons he expected that morning. 

Over three hours and endless mugs of hot black coffee, Wash and Maine had talked it all out. Wash had told him whatever past they had existed to him only in broken fragments, and whatever relationship they'd once cherished no longer existed. It had hurt, and he saw that in Maine's eyes, but it was the truth. Maine listened as Wash told him about the dreams and the scattered memories and Caboose helping him through it and talking to his sister and the composition notebook and everything that had recently happened. Maine listened as Wash tried to articulate just strong and just how incomprehensible Wash's attachment to Maine felt. 

And Maine agreed when, at last, Wash came around to proposing they try again. 

They'd had something special before, something strong enough that even amnesia couldn't keep Wash from wanting to be around Maine and recognizing that Maine was his home. Wash couldn't pass that up, couldn't pretend this guy wasn't everything he needed and wanted. Wash wanted Maine. He wanted to be around him, he wanted to finally face the mud and muck in his brain, and, mostly, he just wanted to be back in those arms. He still remembered that night on the train tracks, kissing Maine under the starlight, more vividly than perhaps anything else. 

And Maine agreed. No matter how heartbreaking it might be to restart from nothing, Maine agreed. 

But that wasn't what kept Wash from sleeping tonight. 

Upon returning to his apartment, his boss had been here. 

Wash shifted the dark room, squirmed against the memories, tried to forget. For once, he hated that he vividly remembered. 

"So, I saw you out with one of those guys from Project Freelancer." He'd clicked his tongue. "You know you're legally bound to not to associate with them while you're under contract with Charon." 

Wash, alongside being a fucking mess with no memory, and Maine's sort-of-boyfriend, was primarily a film student. And he needed this workstudy to pay tuition. 

And he had another year of it. 

Wash tried to dance around it, to say he hadn't known the guy was from PFL, that he didn't care about PFL- Isaac Gates had his hooks in Wash deep. He was bound by contract; there was nothing he could do. 

Still- he'd just gotten Maine back. And already he couldn't fathom a world without him. 

So his thoughts kept him awake that night. Wash was a disaster at best, but not a terminating-a-contract-he-badly-needed-to-fill kind of disaster. 

_Fuck._

When morning came, his eyes still hadn't closed.   
  


* * *

  
  


Wash sat at his rickety table drinking too-strong coffee, letting it coat his tongue in that unpleasantly-hairy-feeling way, when someone knocked on his door. He sighed; whatever it was, no one knocked on doors at six a.m. for any good reason. 

He set down the mug, glanced around for a shirt, gave up, opened the door shirtless in sweatpants. 

Maine stood there, saw Wash, and seemingly lost all inhibitions. 

Big hands gripped Wash's exposed, freckled sides, and Maine lowered his mouth to Wash's, capturing him. Wash melted in his grip, hands up to steady himself, landing on tig ol' bitty, and he disintegrated then and there. All that he thought of right then was Maine, and how much he needed to be kissing him, needed lips on his, hands on his waist pulling him close, chest against his chest- _God,_ tongue in his mouth, teeth clashing teeth- 

And then he remembered he probably had morning breath, mixed now with coffee breath, and his lips were probably chapped, and his hair was a mess, and- 

And Maine's hand traveled south and Wash forgot to care. 

Maine pressed forward, causing Wash to back up, and kicked the door closed behind him without breaking his lips' from Wash's. And, God, Wash was a disaster, and somehow he'd been let into heaven, and there was no way it would last but- 

Maine broke off before Wash could finish the thought. 

Maine heaved a breath through swollen lips and flushed cheeks and reached up to lay one of his too-big hands on Wash's cheek, index finger brushing stray tendrils of blonde out of Wash's face. 

"I know it's too soon to tell you I love you, but there will never be a time I can resist kissing you." Maine's green eyes bore into Wash with an intensity that drew him in. "You're perfect. You're so perfect." 

_I'm a disaster- a hot mess- minus the hot part- I'm absolutely fucking catastrophic- what the hell- nothing about me is perfect-_

Every self-deprecating thought was lost as Wash pushed himself back to Maine's lips. He needed this and nothing else. He needed Maine, all of Maine, Maine big enough to block out the world, Maine warm enough to keep Wash from ever feeling cold or alone- 

And then came the beeping. 

Before Wash could even think of extending this kiss, that horrible, monotonous beeping. Screaming tempo at robotic pitch, echoing from his room, torturous reminder of reality- that there was more than just Maine. 

He half-wished the whole ordeal had been a dream, that his alarm now woke him to an empty bed, but the fact was he went very quickly from relishing Maine's lips to remembering the previous night and his contract with Charon. He withdrew and something in his chest crumbled, a hollow feeling, the warmth that had been there now ringed with poison. 

Maine's eyebrows twitched. "Wash? What's wrong?" 

"You need to go." 

Wash broke away, because it was easier, all but ran to his room and his phone. 

"Sorry- I- I have work-" 

"Can we meet for lunch?" 

He pushed the button to dismiss the alarm. "Ah... No, I'm eating at the office today. You know why you can't swing by." 

He stood there by his phone for a second and closed his eyes, regret, regret, regret, _fuck._

"Wash-" 

He was in the doorway. Wash turned to face him and hated himself. Was any career more important than having someone who made things make sense? Who had the answers, no matter how hard they were to deal with, and stuck by his side? Was any career more important than having something to hold onto? 

"Wash, what's going on?" 

And the truth spilled out against his will: "I work for Charon. I'm under contract not to contact anyone from Project Freelancer until the contract is up." 

Maine stiffened, but his expression didn't change. "How long is your contract?" 

"Till next August." 

"...That's a year from now. Over a year." 

Wash gripped his phone like a lifeline. "I know. I- I don't know what to do. I'm sorry." 

Maine glanced around, and then looked up at Wash with clearer eyes. "I do. I'll see you around, alright? Don't stress yourself about it." 

Wash took a step closer. "Maine- I... I feel something for you that's different from anything I've felt since... Since I can remember. I- I don't want this to end." 

Maine met him halfway across the room and took Wash's face in his hands. "It won't." Maine kissed Wash's forehead briefly and then met his gaze with that same intensity. Not burning- rock solid. Steady. Something Wash desperately needed. 

Maine's voice came soft: "It won't end. I promise." 

"But another year-" 

"I _promise._ I'm not letting anything take you away from me again." 

Wash collapsed against his chest; he was sleep-deprived and stupid and Maine's big arms circling him felt like home. 

He hoped, more than anything, there was some way for that promise to be true.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: recreational drug use & alcohol. wash gets hella drunk.

_davewash:_

_don't know if you remember me, i'm the one the scary lady roasted at the coffee shop that day when you looked like a lost puppy and maine was your new home. name's york, most people don't like me, and i'd like to apologize to those people who do. anyway: there's gonna be a BOMB-ASS SHINDIG this friday and your bleach-blond ass better be there. you know that pier with the big green statue of a dog? we're gonna be at the dingy beach about a mile south of that. nine o'clock. skate fast or eat grass but make sure your ass is there._

_maine's best friend,  
york_

_p.s. from maine: Please disregard everything this dumbass just said. Thanks.  
p.p.s: from north: It really won't be that bad, and you're definitely invited. If York is too much, come find me. I'll be the one that looks like "the scary lady" but if she was a dad friend. Hope to meet you soon!_

The email ended with one of those poorly designed 2005 animatics of fireworks and Wash released a very, very long sigh. _What the FUCK._

He just wanted to sit around and be a poor college kid who didn't answer to anyone, but since Maine came into his life that didn't seem so simple anymore. Wash shook his head and deleted the email, writing down the location and time. Because _of course_ he was going to that shit, he was self-detrimental as all hell and nothing was stopping him from meeting Maine's friends. Besides, anyone who referred to him "as your bleach-blond ass" deserved to see Wash drunk. 

Work had been stressful and Wash hadn't seen Maine in two weeks anyway. If there was even the slightest chance of Maine being at this party, Wash wanted it. 

He made it through the next few days, surprisingly, and Mr. Gates almost kept Wash long enough Friday night that he wouldn't have been able to go anyway. It was a quarter to eight when Wash finally got to leave work. 

He made it home, showered, teased up his stupid ass bleach-blond hair, finger-gunned his reflection, and turned to his closet in mystery. What the hell did you wear to a beach party with Project Freelancer? 

...You just didn't question it. Fuck it. You wore whatever caught your eye. 

So anyway that's he ended up at a party of rich, well-dressed stunt artists wearing a bright yellow Hawaiian shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and olive green loafers. Dakota approached him, looking like a goddamn Olympic champion in her plum-hued billowy top and black shorts, showing off thick-muscled thighs and ripped abdomen. 

"Hey, you made it!" She greeted him, the first to notice his arrival. "Damn. Guess I owe North money now." 

"What, did you bet on me not arriving?" 

"Right on the money, kid." She swept an arm toward the bonfire and surrounding beach inhabitants. "Welcome to PFL! The only other person who showed up in a Hawaiian shirt is Butch Flowers, we call him Florida most of the time, he's a worthless hippie." 

As she said it, he was throwing up peace-signs, shrieking some kind of war-cry, and attempting to jump over the fire- Wash gaped as Butch was tackled to the sand to put out the flames now showering his swim-trunks. 

Dakota sighed. "The one that jumped on him is my brother, North. Used to be part of the project, has since left to be a school nurse." 

Wash's eyes narrowed in amazement as he watched the guy who looked like he could last in a fight against Maine put out the flames on a laughing Butch. "That guy? Is a school nurse?" 

_"It's fucking weird, right?"_ Dakota laughed. "Anyway." She pointed at a man frowning into his hands, who sighed and raised his face back to Butch, revealing an impressive moustache. He looked _dashing_ with his waxed moustache and crisp white flannel and black slacks. Dakota nodded at him. "That's Wyoming, AKA Reggie. Butch's sorta-boyfriend when he can stand him." 

"When Butch can stand Reggie?" 

"Other way around usually, but- you get the picture. Worthless hippie, uptight Brit. Weird-ass dynamic. Those three over there are the triplets." Wash's eyes landed on a trio playing Uno with barely-sipped beers, the girl obviously beating the two boys and glancing around now and then. Dakota sighed. "Ohio, Iowa, Idaho. Kinda worthless, but they're good kids. They try." 

"Counts for something, right?" 

"Right. And you know York and CT," she added, pointing them out, and, behind them- "And, of course, Maine." 

He was laughing. Head tossed back, eyes crinkled closed, smile that could light up the whole night, howling laughter through the beach, a beer in his hand. CT was glaring at him while York wore a smug grin. 

"Oh, holy shit, that's gay!" 

"What?" 

"You saw him and your whole face lit up!" 

Wash realized he was smiling for the first time since arriving and laughed. "It's that gay shit. So: where's the booze? I need to forget how to feel and then go say hi. Especially to York." 

Dakota grinned. "You liked the invitation letter?" 

"Oh, yeah, anyone who refers to me as a bleach-blond asshole automatically goes on my list of people I want to stay in touch with." 

Dakota started to lead him toward a cooler. "And yet here you are!" 

Wash shrugged. "I wasn't gonna miss this. Things have been so one-on-one with Maine, or I've been at work and stressed." _Probably shouldn't mention where I work,_ Wash reflected. "Thought it might be nice to know who Maine spends all his time with." 

Dakota sent him a look that suggested more was going on that Wash knew, but before he could question it she was asking him what beverage he wanted. Martinis seemed the vibe for sitting on the beach gossiping with Dakota, but he needed to not _feel._ Tequila was... a bad idea. 

"Tequila!" 

Dakota turned around and looked at him. "Just how much fuck-it are you wearing tonight, Mr. Hawaiian Shirt?" 

"All of it," he answered, laughing. "All of it I can muster." 

She pulled out a bottle of some kind of margarita mix. "Will this do?" 

"Yeah, perfect! Got any, uh, curly straws?" 

"You really want to approach your seven-foot-tall not-boyfriend drinking a margarita through a curly straw while wearing loafers and a Hawaiian shirt?" 

"If he doesn't accept me at my absolute most atrocious, it's not gonna work out anyway." 

Dakota sighed heavily. "For your sake, I hope he really loves you." And she handed him a hot pink curly straw. Wash's face lit up like it did when he saw Maine. "Alright, let's go get your mans." 

She guided him with a hand on his back, the strong lesbian gal-pal Wash needed in his formative years, to the trio they'd been eyeing together. Not the poor sods playing Uno- the ones Wash was really interested in talking to tonight. Minus CT. No offense to CT, she just hadn't made an impression yet. 

And then, as Wash crossed the sand, he met those fanfiction-green eyes and warmed there by the bonfire. He had the end of a hot pink curly straw between his lips and was slurping down margarita and then he was bursting into stupid radiant smiles and his eyes were bright and wide and, goddammit, _Maine._

Maine broke from York and CT and brushed forward to greet Wash. Dakota wagged her eyebrows suggestively at Wash and then parted to go talk to the other two. Maine, reaching Wash, gripped him with a firm hand on the side and on the back of his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss right there by the fire, in front of everyone. Caught off-guard, Wash gasped slightly and melted into it, hands finding Maine and lips moving with lips as his chest turned to flame. 

Maine withdrew and wore a lopsided grin as he sighed contently and rested his head on Wash's, running his hand over the side of Wash's head. "Hey." 

Wash laughed lightly, still catching up after he'd forgotten to breathe. "Is this how you say hello where you're from?" 

Maine kissed him again, and again, pulled him close, chest to chest, kissed him again. Wrapped him in his arms and said gently, "Do you have any fucking clue how goddamn touch-starved I am? It's been, like fourteen fucking months." 

Wash laughed. "That long?" 

Something pained tensed Maine's smile. "Ahh. I have my reasons." 

Wash picked up on a social cue for the first time in his life. "Oh! I mean, in my recent memory, I haven't- not since seeing you again- I haven't done anything- I-" 

Maine chuckled and kissed his forehead. "It's okay, Wash. C'mon, let's go talk to the others." 

Maine wrapped an arm around Wash and lead him toward York, CT, and Dakota, as Wash said, "It's not my fault you preferred to make out with me in front of everyone before I can even get introduced." 

Maine kissed the top of his head in response. "Can't help it." 

Wash grinned, drinking more through his curly straw, feeling the familiar warmth of Maine at his side. Maine, as always, felt like home. York's impression of Wash hadn't been entirely inaccurate. 

They reached the others and Dakota grinned. "Like I said- pretty gay." 

Wash laughed. He kinda loved Dakota already. He knew he was already pushing his luck Charon-wise by being in love with Maine, but Dakota was _cool._

"Not my fault, Maine did it," Wash said. 

"It's weird seeing him all lovey-dovey," CT said. "Guy hardly talks for a whole year, and then makes out with someone in front of the whole party." 

"It's not that weird," York said with a friendly smile. "Good to see you made it, Davewash!" 

"Just Wash, if you would." 

"I might, Justwash." 

Wash rolled his eyes. "'Kay." 

York cleared his throat. "So- friends from high school, huh? What the hell happened in those locker rooms?" 

"None of your fucking business," Dakota said for them, but with eyes that suggested good humor. "What happened in the bathrooms at your college, York?" 

"We agreed never to mention that!" 

"Hm. Right. And yet here I am. You can't stop me. No one can stop me. Not even I can stop me." 

"Dakota," Maine said, chuckling. "It's okay." 

"I like your not-boyfriend," Dakota said. "He's ballsy. Just look at him. I love him. If anything happens to him, I'm killing everyone at this party and then myself." 

"Making friends, are we, South?" North said, walking up then and tossing an arm around York. 

"She's bullying me again," York pouted, resting his head on North's shoulder, and North grinned at his sister. "Ah, c'mon, play nice with the other kids, sis." 

"I'm nice to CT." 

"It's true," CT agreed. "She tells me I'm pretty, like, every time she sees me." 

Dakota looked over at her and sighed. "God, you're pretty." 

"See?" 

North grinned, and then turned to Wash. "It's nice to meet you. I'm North, Dakota's older and friendlier brother." 

"Older by three minutes, you pretentious dickwad!" 

"Deep down, I think she might love me." 

"I love three things in this world and one of them is Wash." 

"Might." 

Wash, a little overwhelmed, forced a grin, drank more of his margarita, and then said, "It's nice to meet you, North. Dakota seems... Fun." 

"Hell yeah I am!" 

Wash laughed and settled in, forcing himself to drink more, relax, stop worrying so much. He had Maine's arm around him and that was good. Dakota, obviously fierce and fearless, accepted him with ease. York and North were welcoming and accommodating. And that was all good. 

That night waned on closer to midnight as party happenings proceeded. Maine made sure Wash was introduced to everyone, even the Uno-playing trio who had finally progressed through their drinks and got even more dorky for it; Wash liked them. Now and then, Maine would leave Wash with someone so he'd socialize, and Wash tried to make the best of it. It got easier with more margaritas. 

At some point after eleven, Wash leaned on Dakota's shoulder after she'd brought him a new curly straw, the one he'd had having fallen into the sound. The new one was yellow! He loved it. Yellow was... Bright. Happy. Loud. A good color. He was rather drunk, and would not admit that shit in a million years, and he just really fucking loved Dakota. Dakota was so good. _So_ good. She brought him curly straws. How do you beat that? 

"Dakota?" He sighed, feeling _dusty,_ whatever that meant. 

"Yeah?" 

"Have you ever- have you ever been in _love?"_

She laughed. "Not in a long time, kid." 

"What about CT? You tell she's pretty all the time, and you _obviously_ like her." 

"CT is way too good for me. I don't mean that like I don't deserve her, poor me, blah blah- I mean that like... I'm a bitch and she makes flowers grow." 

"I kinda feel that way about Maine, except like... I'm a dumbass and he's the sun." 

She laughed. "I'm sure he sees you the same way." 

Wash laughed, too, but it faded, faded, into a sigh. "Huh..." 

"Hmm?" 

"I just think he's neat." 

Wash looked up and saw Maine helping Reggie retrieve a very stoned Florida from the top of a palm tree. Wash tilted his head to the side. "I mean... Just look at that _ass."_

"Go get it." 

"What?" 

"Go get that ass!" 

"Dakota, please, I need someone to be my impulse control tonight-" 

"Should've befriended North. Now go get that ass." She jumped up and offered a hand. "Let's go." 

The next few dizzying moments involved removing Butch from the tree, talking with Reggie and Butch and Maine and Dakota for a moment, someone throwing an alcohol into the fire and a WHOOSH with the flames. Wash had no idea what the fuck was going on and didn't even remember how he'd gotten over there. He just leaned on Dakota or Maine and kept a close grip on his curly straw. _Yellow, bitches. Yellow!_

Thereafter, he couldn't remember if the rap battle actually happened or if he passed out and dreamed it, but he was _pretty sure_ Dakota wrecked Butch by dropping hot verses. Butch lost because he was stoned, and an also stoned Reggie was responsible for beat-boxing a rhythm. Wash definitely declared Dakota a badass about eighteen times after that, and- did she clap him on the back and call him son? No, that... Was someone else, some other night... 

Blurry memories started to invade as his mind turned to mud. Margarita after margarita after... But then there was beer on his tongue and he was laughing, and Maine was following him down the beach as he laughed, stumbled, half-ran, drank the beer. And he was back in a dingy bar and he was running out into the night with broken glass underfoot and there was beer in his hand and on his tongue and Maine was there and- 

"Wash!" 

Wash's toes tripped over wood as his mind swirled from the buzzing freedom of not thinking and the overwhelming flood of rememories. Arms around him, chest behind his back, Maine saying something and Wash humming lightly and not hearing a word. 

He loved him, he loved him, and they'd been together forever, he was sure of it. He'd not remember a thing in the morning, and no one cares what drunk people say, so he turned around and pressed sloppy kisses to Maine. "I love you!" Smushed lips somewhere on a stubbled jaw. Searching for a mouth. "I love you, I lub youm, I lum..." 

Big arms crushing him tight to a burly chest and a long, tired sigh. "I love you, too. I just wish you remembered that." 

"Hmmm..." 

And the night faded, and the wood faded, and his stubbed toe already didn't hurt, and glass must've shattered because he heard it and something stung and the night was no more and he didn't have to think and... 

And he remembered. Maine loved him, had always loved him, and it was important, and he'd have to remember that in the morning. Committed to memory. He loved Maine, and Maine loved him, and they had been in love since their teenage years and they'd relied on each other and had always been in love and had always been in love and he remembered and they had always been in love and it was important that he remember. 

And come morning, all he knew was a headache and a bandage on his leg from the shattered glass. Back in his apartment with only a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol on the nightstand. 

And his head hurt, and he was supposed to remember something, and last night it had seemed so important- but, well, he was drunk, it was probably something stupid. 

He nursed his headache and let himself not worry about it anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a day of rarities. 

Rain drizzled over the eleventh hour in LA. Traffic was slow. Wash found five dollars in the pocket of his sweatpants. And best of all: he'd been curled up with Maine since dawn. 

It was two days after the party and Wash was curled up with Maine, wrapped in big arms, under a soft knitted buttercream-yellow blanket, entranced with absolute bliss. Maine was asleep, had fallen asleep almost as soon as Wash had laid down. Maybe it was weird that Wash was just laying here awake, listening to that big strong heart beat, happy to be in Maine's warmth, but Wash was... Well. It didn't get better than this. 

He didn't remember everything, and he was accepting he might never. But he remembered more of the other night than he'd expected, and- that carnation pink flutter still hadn't left his chest. Like a beacon, this love had risen through the fog and stayed. Of all the things Wash forgot, of all the lapses in his memory, of all the pain and fear he'd experienced at the hands of his muddied brain- he remembered Maine. Somewhere in the depths of his brain, he remembered him, and he hoped that someday he'd remember everything, and he also knew that even if he didn't this love would carry on anyway. Warm, light, fluttering like a bird, this feeling bloomed and took hold and Wash was swept away in the dawn this morning to find Maine's apartment and thank him. 

What he found instead was a sleepy man in boxers and an unzipped jacket who simply took Wash by the hand, led him into the apartment, locked the door, and then hauled both of them back to Maine's bed, where Maine promptly fell asleep. Wash laid now curled up with him, feeling the heat of Maine's skin, the coarseness of hair along Maine's thighs and chest, and Wash felt only bliss. Only absolute love and happiness. 

His hand clasped with a larger one, with a rougher texture, more square. His whole torso only took up the space of about half of Maine's, laying here almost on his side and almost on his stomach on top of Maine. His left foot was tucked under Maine's thigh for warmth; the other leg stuck straight out. All he felt was Maine, and soft knitted yellow blanket, and he couldn't sleep anymore because he slept too much last night but he laid there in perfect happiness and felt _everything._

The early afternoon faded on with a sleeping Maine, and after almost two hours Maine wrapped his arms around Wash and held tight. He hummed softly, not quite awake yet, as Wash lay there and enjoyed the affection. Maine leaned up to press a kiss to Wash's head and opened his eyes as he let his head fall back. 

"Mm." Maine curled his arms tighter around Wash. "I missed waking up to you." 

Maine's eyes flashed open, a look of shock and sudden regret in them, knowing he'd said too much, and Wash sat up and moved his lips to Maine's, kissing him soft and tender, one hand on his cheek. Wash let his lips mold to Maine's as Maine's arms relaxed again and held him close. Wash pulled back and met Maine's eyes. 

"It's okay. I- I know that's something we used to have." Wash kissed him again, lingered, addicted to the feeling of his lips on Maine's. He pulled back already breathless again and forced himself to breathe steady. "It's something I want us to have again. Someday." 

Maine tightened his hold again and Wash let his head fall to Maine's shoulder, slipping down toward the bed, and Wash's eyes fell on something unexpected. His brow creased. 

Over on the nightstand by Maine's bed sat a framed photograph- the two of them. Standing at the Welcome to California sign, Wash wearing an oversized flannel and laughing while Maine kissed his head and smiled. Wash's chest seemed to cave in and he forgot to breathe for a second. 

"Breakfast?" 

"Sure. You mind if I lay here a minute?" 

"Sure." 

Maine stood and tugged on pajama pants as Wash stared at the picture. He felt Maine's eyes on him, peripherally aware of Maine realizing just what Wash had noticed. Maine's voice came again: "Oh- I- can move that if you need me to." 

"No, it's- it's okay." Wash swallowed heavily. "It's... Good." 

Maine excused himself to make coffee and stepped out of the room. 

Wash lay there as the room crashed down around him. 

He remembered. 

Everything.   
  


* * *

  
  


Wash's notebook overflowed with words. They wavered and rambled, the afternoon with Maine, the late breakfast and coffee, the clasped hands, the times they'd done that before. The feeling like someone just flipped the lightswitch in a room where a lamp was on, and the room made sense before but now there were no more shadows and he could see the details and it was all so sharpened. The childhood, Carolina, not his real sister, his friend. The broken roads, the glass, the broken homes, broken doors, holes in walls, bruised fists, screaming matches in the living room, and no wonder he'd left. The night they met and the months that followed. 

And how the _hell_ had he ended up working for Isaac Gates? 

Wash and Maine had pitched the idea for Project Freelancer to a producer who seemed capable of making it happen. The stunt double thing was the producer's idea, but they'd been more varied than that from the start. And Wash wanted to write for them, and he kept jotting down amnesia plots off the side of this, and, _god,_ the train wreck. He remembered that shit. 

He ended up calling Caboose halfway through the night and meeting him at a Denny's. Wash rambled while Caboose ate chocolate chip waffles and Wash drank coffee. 

And he remembered _everything._

And as he sat in his house in the early hours of dawn, he remembered an extremely significant fact and it all clicked together and the fuzz in his brain wore off and _holy shit._ Holy shit! He was- he could _fix this._

And he remembered York and Dakota and why he liked them so much to start with. He'd already been friends with them. When he and Maine first came to LA, they'd recruited for PFL, and built the project. Carolina had even helped them out, before she took off with her wife. 

Fucking _incredible._

And Wash didn't need this shit- this contract with Charon, this journal, any of it. He couldn't jump straight into the life he'd had before, but now he had a _plan._ And Maine didn't know and didn't need to but Wash was _ready._ He had this shit taken care of. He and Maine would still have to rebuild, to work through the time apart and Wash's fogged brain that was now suddenly crystal-clear. And, _hell yes,_ they would spend so many more mornings together. Wash just had to hold out a little longer to get everything in order. 

And for the life he was about to have with Maine, he could do that.   
  


* * *

  
  


Two more weeks passed and Wash only grew more sure of his feelings for Maine as he got everything in order. He knew exactly how to tell Maine he remembered. And, god, he remembered so much. He was amazed he'd ever forgotten Maine. Maine was... Sweet perfection. Everything Wash could want. They'd had the sweetest and strongest love, and no wonder he'd remembered Maine upon seeing him again even after the brain injury. 

He managed a doctor visit in those two weeks and had it all explained to him. How trying to force the memories could make them never come, forcing him to feel something he didn't might have ensured those feelings would never come back. There had been about a 30% chance of memory coming back, anyway- it was borderline miraculous that it did. 

But it did, and Wash was happy, and soon he'd be free of Charon, and he could go remake the life he'd had all over again. He hadn't a shred of doubt. 

He remembered how he came to Charon. He remembered talking to Carolina, as she helped him through because he remembered _her,_ about how he needed to get back on his feet and start actively recovering. He remembered her begging him not to work for Charon, telling him they had a bad reputation and all this stuff he couldn't find any evidence on. He remembered telling her it would be good experience until he finished college and could work for Project Freelancer like he really wanted. He wondered now just what the fuck went on behind the scenes during that time period. 

He remembered the concept of Project Freelancer and he remembered it coming into existence. They'd wanted to bring in people who had nowhere to go, Maine and Wash, broke almost to the point of being homeless and new to the city and eager to make allies and friends alike. He remembered meeting York, the honorably-discharged soldier who'd turned to the arts to cope with the horrors of war that still played in his mind. Meeting Wyoming and Florida. He remembered them all changing their names to state names, because they all had a past they didn't want to go back to, and state names were fun. He remembered the Dakotas' arrival, and no wonder he liked Dakota so much, they'd been friends for almost two years before this. 

There was a _lot._ And amazingly, he didn't feel even slightly overwhelmed. He just wanted to tell Maine- and now, after two weeks, he had everything in order so he could. 

Wash had to dig for a while to find it. It was even more hidden than the train ticket, but he remembered finding it before, thinking it was just a souvenir of the apartment from some previous owner. But no- this had been _his._ From Maine. 

It had been knocked behind a dresser and after two hours of searching Wash started to grow desperate. He did something bad to a muscle in his back heaving the dresser aside in a frantic motion, but he found it: the ring. The ring Maine had given him that day at the Welcome to California sign. Not an engagement ring- a promise. That they'd live a better life than what they had, that they'd find happiness together and it would be _good_ for the both of them. 

He clutched the ring in his hand and broke down for a minute on the bedroom floor, but Wash had more important shit to do than cry about the broken past or reclaimed present. He was just... So fucking _happy._

Wash left the house, locked up, headed down the streets in a taxi, came at last to that apartment. Thought of yellow knitted blankets, thought of nights out in the woods hollering drunken songs in their youth, thought of stupid fights they'd had and unreasonable jealousy and all that they'd been through, thought of hugging Maine close and promising they'd live their best lives. _Together._

And he was ready, he was so ready, as he trotted up the steps, as he paused on the doorstep and rapped a fist against the door. He'd been ready for two weeks, but he had to get everything else in order first- but for Maine? He was _always_ ready for Maine. And finally- 

The door to Maine's apartment swung open. 

Samuel Ortez stood there.


	8. Chapter 8

_Shit._

Ortez eyed Wash, sizing him up, and sauntered forward, pausing barely inches away. "Tell no one." 

And he side-stepped and left. 

Wash stood there paralyzed for a moment, and then saw Maine through the door and time turned on again. He stared at Maine and Maine stared at him and he had about a million questions and no words for any of them. He walked through the door and closed it, pocketed the ring, and approached Maine, clasping him in his arms. The tension eased out of Maine's frame as the bigger man wrapped his arms around Wash and held him close. 

"Are you okay?" 

That was question number one. Usually, Maine was the one asking Wash if he was okay, but today Maine was the one who'd sighed and taken a moment to relax into hugging Wash. Maine grunted softly and pressed his lips to the top of Wash's head. Wash's original plan for this visit would have to be postponed and he pushed it to the back of his mind. _Yeet._

"C'mon," Wash said softly, and pulled Maine by the hand to the couch. He remembered Maine. He remembered how to calm him down, what he'd been through, why certain things bothered him. And he'd gotten to know Maine all over again, not as intimately as before but enough that he could connect dots now between the Maine he'd known and the Maine he'd re-learned. 

Wash sat down and pulled Maine down next to him, and Maine sighed, setting his head in his hands. Wash set a hand on Maine's forearm, giving him a minute, and then Maine groaned and lowered his hands. Before Wash could even ask, Maine just flopped over like a blue whale and collapsed onto Wash. 

"HEY!" 

Wash chuckled under the weight of Maine, who he could see grinning, and Maine groaned again. "Wash! Wash, how did we get here?" 

"How did we get where?" Wash asked, laughter muffled by Maine's shoulder, trying to weave an arm around his boyfriend. 

_"Here."_

"Well, you kinda flopped-" 

"Smartass." 

"What answer did you want?" 

Maine laughed and raised himself up slightly, pressed a quick kiss to Wash, and sat up all the way. He took Wash's hands and pulled him up. Wash came willingly and met Maine's eyes as large hands cupped his cheeks. 

"You... Are the brightest thing in my life," Maine said. 

Wash laughed. "Me? The one who's always half-dead and-or complaining about nothing?" 

"You." Maine pulled Wash forward, caught his lips, kissed soft and tender. And then Maine pulled back and sighed. "But we need to talk." 

Wash swallowed his anxiety. "Okay." 

Maine opened his mouth to speak, and then his eyes spotted something over Wash's shoulder. Wash's eyebrows rose slightly. "What? ...Maine, what?" 

Maine just stared, a thousand emotions flickering through his eyes, his mouth moving with the words in his mind. Wash waited, wanted to glance around, and then- 

"You remembered?" 

Wash glanced behind him now and saw the ring sitting on the couch, having, evidently, fallen out of his pocket. His mouth opened as he floundered for words. "I-" 

"No. No, you- shit. I'm sorry. I- shit-" 

As the hope started to catastrophically vanish from Maine's face, Wash took Maine's cheek in his hand. "Matt. We were at the pier, it was- it was mid-spring, just after the wind currents, and the sun had gone down. We were laughing and we'd drank old-fashions and talked about the success of Project Freelancer. You said later you didn't plan to do it that night, but as we stood at the end of the pier and I laughed about Dakota's arm wrestling match against Butch, you saw the future you wanted. And you proposed." 

Maine looked up from his hopelessness with shining eyes and dropped jaw. 

Wash said the words that hung between them: "I remembered." 

Big arms yanked Wash close, his face smushing against Maine's chest as Maine trembled with laughter or tears or maybe both, and Wash rambled, "I wanted to tell you- I remembered a while back actually- I didn't- I didn't know how to tell you and I knew I needed to fix things so we could make this work and then I found the ring again and I knew that was the only right way to tell you and goddammit I love you so much and as soon as this stuff with Charon is sorted out-" And then he remembered. "Hey, but-" He pulled back to look at Maine. "Why was Samuel Ortez here?" 

The tension returned to Maine's shoulders and the light in his eyes faded slightly, though his entire expression was more at ease than when Wash first arrived. Maine heaved a breath. 

"Do you trust me?" 

Wash's brow creased. "Of course." 

"Then trust me now and don't ask me that." 

Wash tilted his head. "Maine-" 

"Please, Wash. Trust me." 

Wash sighed. "Can you promise it's not something that's going to get you hurt?" 

"It's not about me." 

"That's not an answer." 

Maine squeezed Wash's hand. "I can promise everything's going to work out." 

Wash sighed and rested his head on Maine's shoulder. "I... Don't like the sound of that, but with everything else going on, we'll let it sit." 

Maine wrapped an arm around Wash and rubbed his arm a bit. "I know it's cryptic. But it'll all make sense soon." 

Wash's own plan to deal with Charon was almost complete, but this- this made him nervous. Samuel Ortez had been _in Maine's apartment._ And Maine asked Wash just to trust that, as if Wash didn't remember the bitter rivalry between them. As if Wash didn't remember Isaac Gates and Samuel Ortez finding ways to sabotage Project Freelancer for its entire first year. As if they hadn't snatched a brain-injured Wash away from the Project and made him vow not to speak to his old friends. 

He didn't trust Samuel Ortez or Isaac Gates and something didn't sit right about the whole situation. 

But he trusted Maine, and that would have to be enough.   
  


* * *

  
  


"Caboose!" 

Wash was set down after a bear hug that pulled him off his feet, and Caboose smiled brightly at him and then turned to Maine. Wash realized for the first time exactly how big Caboose really was- tall enough to be on eye level with Maine, and almost as broad. Holy shit. 

"Who's this?" 

Wash saw Caboose's companion, more similar in build to Wash, maybe a couple inches shorter, approach. Dude wore an aqua tank top and flared black jeans with a gray flannel around his waist and his skin looked baby-soft. Wash, disaster, was surprised to see Caboose kept such a fashionable friend. 

"Tucker, this is Washingtub," Caboose said. "I do not know who's with him." 

Wash gestured to Maine. "This is my boyfriend, Maine." 

Caboose, whom Wash hadn't seen in nearly a month, glanced between them and smiled brightly. "Oh! Oh, your boyfriend! That is so good! I remember you were very sad about not remembering him. So you have worked things out?" 

Wash couldn't help but grin like a fool in this Target right now. "Yeah, things are worked out." 

"I'll get an introduction someday," the pretty boy in aqua said. "I'm Lavernius Tucker. Caboose's old college roommate." 

"Nice to meet you," Maine said. "I'm Maine, this is Wash." 

"And I'm Caboose!" 

"Great, everyone's introduced," Tucker said. "Caboose, can we go now?" 

Caboose cupped a hand around his mouth and sent Wash a pointed look. "Tucker gets kind of bitchy when he's out shopping." 

"Caboose, I heard that. Cupping a hand around your mouth doesn't work if you still talk at normal volume." 

Caboose smiled over at Tucker. "It is okay. I am also kind of itchy when out shopping." 

"Caboose, I know what you said, I _heard_ you-" 

Wash wanted to intervene and say something that'd resolve their problems, but Wash was Wash, so, fuck it. He just watched as the two dug themselves into holes. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I'm standing right here! You practically shouted it!" 

"If I shouted something, there would be no reason to debate what it was!" 

"There IS no reason to debate! You're just arguing for no reason!" 

"Then what are we arguing about?" 

"You called me bitchy and then pretended you didn't!" 

"I did no such thing." 

"Back me up!" Tucker turned to the other two. "Did he call me bitchy?" 

Wash shrugged. "My memory is shit." 

Maine choked on the cafe mocha he'd been drinking and then fumbled out a, "Y-yeah, that's- that's true," while still coughing cafe mocha. 

"No wonder he's friends with Caboose." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Caboose asked, turning to Tucker. "Are you insulting my friends?" And he muttered, "Stupid Tucker." 

"Ah, c'mon, Caboose." 

"No." 

"Maybe he is kind of bitchy," Maine said, and Tucker gaped, but, evidently, would not argue with someone That Tall. Wash had to try not to laugh at Maine calling someone bitchy and then staring them down. Tucker seemed to try not to squirm. 

"Well, this is fun!" Caboose said. "I have not seen Wash in a long time." 

"Maybe we can all go grab a meal or something after this?" Maine suggested, and glanced at Wash. "I haven't gotten a chance to meet many of Wash's friends." 

Caboose cupped a hand around his mouth, angling toward Maine. "There are not many to meet." 

Wash gaped, and Tucker held out a fist. "Solidarity." 

Wash hit Tucker's fist with his. "Solidarity." 

"So, dinner?" Maine said, ever the one to keep shit on task. 

"Dinner sounds good," Caboose said. 

"We _just_ ate lunch, like, fifteen minutes ago," Tucker said. 

"We're literally only in Target because it was the closest Starbucks to Maine's apartment," Wash said. "But we can waste some time before going to eat." 

Tucker looked at Caboose and shrugged. "Alright, fine by me." 

"I would love that!" Caboose looked at Maine. "You are tall. I think we will be good friends." 

Maine grinned. "You ever try wrestling?" 

"MAINE, NO." 

The next hour or so was spent wondering around Target, mostly doing stupid shit. Tucker still wasn't hungry and kept complaining of stomach cramps and bitching at Caboose about random shit, and then occasionally muttering an apology for being bitchy. They dumped empty Starbucks cups in the trash and the four rode in Maine's car to the nearest Denny's. 

Tucker continued to bitch and claim he wasn't hungry while they sat down and looked over menus and ordered. Then Tucker threw in his order, as if an afterthought, and perked up considerably when his food arrived. Wash kind of liked him. Kid needed some work- but didn't they all. 

The meal went well, Tucker's mood improving as they ate and Wash downright gleeful at seeing Maine get along with Caboose. They were like a weird family- kind of like how Wash remembered Project Freelancer. Soon, Caboose and Tucker were laughing more than bickering, and Maine kept everyone happy and kept conversation moving. 

Until that changed. 

Food was almost entirely gone, conversation flourishing, and then Maine checked his phone and frowned. Wash, next to him on their side of the booth, tilted his head. "Everything okay?" 

Because that was always the first question. 

"I have to go. Let me out." 

Maine didn't give much choice, already scooting out of the booth, and as soon as Wash was out of the way, Maine strode off, halfway out the restaurant in seconds. Wash turned to Caboose and Tucker. "I- I'll be right back." 

He jogged after Maine and found him outside. "Maine!" 

He grabbed Maine's hand and Maine turned around. The laughter had died from his eyes. He took Wash in his hands and kissed him long and slow, and then stared him down with earnest green eyes. 

"I need you to listen to me carefully, Wash, and I need you to do exactly what I say. Do you still trust me?" 

"Yes." 

"Okay. Don't come after me. Don't ask questions. You're not going to see me for at least two weeks. Don't call me. Don't text. Don't email. Nothing. No contact. Don't try to find me. If we happen to see each other, you _don't know me._ Do you understand?" 

"No-" 

"WASH. Do. You. Understand?" 

Wash stared at him, hopeless, and, "I- yes. No contact. But- why?" 

"No questions, either. I'm- I'm sorry. I'll be back in two weeks. If I find out it'll take longer, someone will let you know." 

"Someone? Why not you?" 

"I can't tell you that. Please, Wash- trust me." 

Wash started to crumble, confused, and met those green eyes and yearned to understand. "I do." 

"I love you. I'll come back." 

And he left down the darkened streets, left Wash standing there outside a Denny's at sunset, left the laughter and the booth and everything that had been good. And Wash went back inside and he sat down in the booth and he looked at Caboose and Tucker and he laughed out an excuse for why Maine left and... 

And he knew things were about to change. For better or worse. And there was no telling when he would see Maine again, and he didn't know why Maine had left. 

_Please, Wash- trust me._

He tried to.


	9. Chapter 9

31 July 

The dreams are starting again. 

He's only been gone a few days. It's kind of reassuring that my brain's reminding me of him each night. Everything I remembered still feels surreal. Around him, I can believe it all happened, because I feel it. Now that he's away, nothing feels like it did. 

It's only been a few days.   


* * *

  


6 Aug 

I forgot something today. I shouldn't panic about that. Lots of people forget things. Just about every person on the face of the Earth forgets things sometimes. I used to not. I had the best memory. I could remember everything, down to the details. Oscar Wilde wrote once that women remember the details of something while men only remember the color; I used to remember both. And anyway Oscar Wilde only knew how to compare women to birds so his opinion on the matter is Not Valid. 

I can't panic every time I forget something. I remembered it, didn't I? 

It's just... Unsettling.   


* * *

  


10 Aug 

It's been a while. Still no sign of Maine. I told him I wouldn't go after him. I can't stop speculating where he is, what's happened, why I can't hear from him. I just wish- well. It doesn't matter. He is where he is.   


* * *

  


18 Aug 

He's coming back, right? Someday?   


* * *

  


31 Aug 

I'm not giving up on him. 

I won't. 

This has sucked, majorly. Nothing is good without him. Nothing is right. I've never missed someone like this. It's like, in everything I do, there's just this little piece missing. Even things he wouldn't have been there for, I want to tell him about, and I don't even have a phone number. 

He'd said someone would call if it was going to be longer than two weeks. It's been over a month. 

I'm not mad- I just want to know he's okay. That wherever he is, he's not hurt. Even if he doesn't come back. 

I'm not giving up on him. 

I don't care how much of my memory fades. I'll write it here: I'm in love with him. He's the love of my life and I don't want anyone else, no matter how long it takes him to come back, no matter what he's doing. 

I love him. 

He'll be back. 

I love him so much. 

I refuse to give up on this.   


* * *

  


15 Sep 

Went out with Caboose and Tucker today. Met another friend of theirs, Donut. He was... Interesting. I'll have to talk to him again sometime; he seems like the type who would give a shit about all my emotional bullshit without being overbearing. Work sucks lately. School's alright. I saw a cat while leaving Starbucks earlier. Orange tabby, super fat, wouldn't let me pet it. I love it already. Still no sign of Maine.   


* * *

  


28 Sep   


Two months.   


* * *

  


14 Oct 

It's even worse thinking about the holidays without him. I had been so excited just thinking about it back in July, and hadn't given it a lot of thought because it was still so far off. I'm glad I didn't think about it too much. That... Probably would've been too much. Not the first time I had a wish left unfulfilled. 

I just want to know he's okay.   


* * *

  


27 Oct 

Went to a Halloween party tonight. Tucker invited me. Got relly realy drnk. Writing is w e ird. Maine's gonna come ba   


* * *

  


30 Oct 

Went to another Halloween party. PFL this time. Significantly less drinking. I punched Dakota. 

I didn't mean to. Well- it was my fault. No fucking doubt about that. 

Everyone there kept telling me Maine would be back and he was fine and I just got... So pissed. Thinking they all knew where my boyfriend was and I didn't. God, "Boyfriend" feels like such a juvenile term. He's the love of my goddamn life. And I don't know where he is, but all 20+ of our closest friends do. What the FUCK. 

I'd thought maybe at least Dakota would give me more than sympathy and a "he'll be back" but I was fucking wrong and I snapped. She told me I worried too much and to stop being such a baby about it and I snapped. I punched her. 

She got me back and explaining my busted lip and black eye to my class is gonna be a fun story. But she took it with unexpected kindness- just knocked me on my ass and asked if I was done and when I said yes she let me up and sat with me the rest of the night. When anyone tried to give me grief about it, she'd threaten to do to them what she'd done to my face. 

I'm a fucking mess. 

And I'm forgetting again. 

I'm terrified.   


* * *

  


6 Nov 

Election day, wooo. There's not even an election this year and I didn't remember it's election day till I saw the date. There's something else about the 6th of November. Remember, remember, the 5th of November. But that's V for Vendetta and ultimately irrelevant. Hmm. 

School's been neat. We're studying horror films in one class. It's not bad. "Dream House" was interesting- not even really a horror movie, just... Psychological suspense? I should know the terms. I don't. I should study more. Donut's friend Frank keeps offering to help me learn some study tactics. He also offers counseling sessions, so I don't talk to him much. Maybe I should. Huh. 

Still no sign of... It feels redundant at this point. If there was any sign of him, I would've already written it. There's no sign. No note. No hint. No phone call. Nothing. I just hope he's okay. That he knows I love him. 

Caboose tells me the people we love aren't really gone if they didn't say goodbye. They're just not here right now. He says also that home is inside of us, that it's made up of all the people and pets and things we love. That one took a while for me to riddle out- he said something about there being a house inside of him, and cookies, and a church. I finally figured out the church was a friend of his named Church, and then puzzled out he meant homes, not a house. Caboose is... A good friend. I don't deserve him. I don't think anyone does. But he loves us, and his other friends had better love him, too. I love Caboose. It's nice to say I love __ and finish the sentence with someone other than... Ah. Futility. 

But I do. I love Maine. And every time Caboose bear-hugs me, there's a small part of me that remembers they're about the same build, and something touch-starved makes me wish it wasn't Caboose. 

GOD I'M PATHETIC. 

November 6- that was the day we reached California.   


* * *

  


22 Nov 

Wooo Thanksgiving. 

I have so much to actually be thankful for, hard as it is to admit. Between PFL staying in touch, and Caboose and his friends, and actually passing my classes, there's a lot. I saw another cat while I was out getting coffee this morning! I have so much to be thankful for. 

And- he's not here. But I'm still thankful for Maine. Always. He found me when I was at the worst part of my life, when I was a troubled youth screaming into the night and sneaking into bars, and he gave me a reason to hope. I hadn't thought I stood a CHANCE with him then- I mean, he was four years older than me, had already served overseas and been honorably discharged from the Army, had insurance and benefits for life. Not to mention he was so good-looking and seemed so put-together and I was some dumb high school kid who'd snuck into a bar. But lo and behold, I graduated, and by the end of that summer he kissed me by the old pond off Dover Road. 

He's not here. I refuse to believe there's a chance he's not be coming back. But I'm thankful for him. 

And for good friends! Hell yeah, I love these idiots. Tucker keeps trying to pull me back to the living room to ward off Donut from trying to dance with him, and I kind of want those two idiots to get over their discomfort and just start dating already. They could both use someone to focus on, and Tucker would never admit it but he's just as flamboyant as Donut. 

Ah. I have to go. 

Maine, wherever you are- happy Thanksgiving.   


* * *

  


2 Dec 

I just hope he's home by Christmas.   


* * *

  


It was a week till Christmas. 

Wash was out Christmas shopping with Caboose and Donut. Donut had finally decided he was giving Tucker a try- he was going to get him some meaningful gift and ask him to be his date to the New Years Eve party. Caboose just wanted to buy something for everyone. When Wash said individually wrapping cookies was a bad idea, they had to negotiate a budget, and Wash eventually decided to give Caboose five dollars for each friend he wanted to buy gifts for. By the end of the day, he was out $100. 

They walked around the mall, decked with fake snow and Christmas balls and holly. Light-up displays in all the windows beckoned their attention and holiday sale ads all boasted the best deals. Caboose walked around with his hot chocolate and bright eyes and Santa hat, the embodiment of holiday spirit, while Donut repeatedly suggested stopping by Spencer's, which Wash refused to do while Christmas shopping. 

They stopped by the pretzel stand on the far end from the food court and something seized Wash's chest. That just happened sometimes. He took a staggering breath and handed a ten-dollar-bill to Donut. "I'm gonna step outside. Uh... You two get whatever you want." 

His shoes punctuated every step as he crossed the short corridor to the door and he burst out into the early night. The temperature was just low enough to be chilly, but Wash had grown up somewhere further north, and this was nothing. He stood there and looked at the rising moon and a gasp broke from him, elongated by the shockwaves rippling through his chest. 

This just happened sometimes. 

He paced over to a statue of a bronze dragon and sat on the pedestal it perched on. He buried his head in his hands and fought to breathe. Christmas- Christmas without Maine. Halloween he had bore, knowing how much Maine loved it. Thanksgiving he'd survived, remembering Maine swollen with turkey and stuffing and cranberry on a dusty couch somewhere far away. But Christmas. It pulled at his chest and it hurt in ways he didn't want to recognize and- 

"Wash?" 

He froze. 

Was he losing his mind? Had he finally completely lost it? To the point of auditory hallucinations like some shitty romance novel protagonist? He wasn't even breathing right now. He had to look- he had to see- he was terrified to _know-_

He lowered stiff hands and turned his head. His breath caught in the moonlight as his eyes landed on the hulking frame, those big hands that held him on long roadtrips and longer nights, arms that clutched him close in times of happiness and despair, chest that held that big thrumming heart- 

And fanfiction green eyes. 

Wash gaped and his eyes shone. He wanted to throw himself at Maine. There was no one else out here, just the two of them, on an emptier side of the mall, and Wash couldn't believe this was real. He stood quite without knowing why. 

"Wash," Maine said, and his voice trembled. "I-" And cracked. "I'm sorry." And broke. 

Wash was so shocked at seeing him again he was completely dumbfounded at the words. "For what?" 

"For not finding some way to tell you." 

"I-" 

And Wash had never really been good with words. His social anxiety had always made sure of that. But right now that didn't matter. Right now it only mattered that Maine was here and Wash was here and Wash could see him again, could touch him- 

"I don't give a _fuck."_

Maine's eyes flashed and he took a step back. Wash charged forward. 

"I don't care how long it's been- I don't care where you've been- I _do,_ but not right now- I only care that you're here now." 

Wash couldn't emit more words because now his hands were on Maine's face and his lips were on Maine's and his eyes were closed and it was chest against chest and grasping hands and frantic mouths and nothing mattered but this. 

Nothing mattered but this. 

Wash melted and he was crying and Maine was crying and wet cheeks met as they clung to each other and kissed like it was the first time, half-drunk by the pond all over again, and the LA wind blasted over them and Maine held Wash steady and it was everything he could've wanted. And nothing- _nothing-_ mattered but this. 

Maine finally broke and pulled Wash close and spoke softly into the night. "Charon is done. That's where I was. I had a final deal with Samuel Ortez- you remember I was Special Ops? That kind of thing. Required that skill-set. Nothing illegal- mostly just involved making sure he wouldn't be found. In return, he gave me every file on his business partner and his boss that he had, proving years of embezzling fraud and worse. I turned that in to the proper authorities this morning, as soon as I got back stateside, and they're done for. Isaac Gates and Malcolm Hargrove are going to jail. Locus assured me you'd be compensated for your work- enough to pay for your schooling. Wash- we did it. We're good. You're free. You can work for PFL, we can be together, I'm sorry it took so long-" 

"Don't be sorry," Wash said, and he was still crying, like an _idiot,_ and this was the best goddamn day of his life. He pulled back and put his hands on Maine's face and looked in those stupid fanfiction green eyes. And he remembered he used to call them forest green and one time green like a toad and they were the prettiest color in the world. Wash had always loved yellow, but his favorite had become Maine green. "Maine- don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm just so happy you're back." 

And Maine was crying and Wash saw him and he was crying and- 

He was back. 

Finally. 

"Maine?" 

Wash stared into those beautiful eyes, full of all the emotions they both were feeling. 

"I love you so goddamn much." 

"I love you, too, Wash." 

Wash held him close, laid his head on that chest, and heard Maine's heartbeat against his ear. 

He'd never know sadness as long as he had this.


	10. Chapter 10

_Knock-knock-knock._

Wash opened the door with a bowl of candy in his hand and a bright smile widened his face, not for the first time that night. Two kids stood at the doorstep and greeted him with a trick-or-treat. He recognized them- they lived on the floor above Maine and Wash. 

It had been almost three years since the summer Wash remembered. They'd spent a number of holidays together- but Halloween was still sacred. Halloween and Christmas especially. Maine even let Wash play "Nightmare Before Christmas" every Christmas eve. Their lives had become as close to perfect as real people can expect. There was only one thing missing, really, and it was something Wash had long given up on anyway. 

The trick-or-treaters left and Wash headed back inside. He set the bowl on the table by the door and headed back through the house, lurching as he saw Maine's fucking Babadook costume hanging by their bedroom door. 

_We should do something cute this year!_

_I'm gonna be the Babadook._

_Maine wh-_

_Babadook._

And so it went. Wash was going as Dakota and she was going as him. She was scary enough. He went to his room to start getting ready and found the hair chalk CT recommended. He stared at the bottle for a minute- purple hair chalk. Was this really a good idea? 

Laughing, he cracked it open, and then heard another knock. 

Guess turning into South would have to wait another moment! 

Wash left the room again, trotting to the door, and prepared to grab the bowl. He opened the door and- 

Maine was standing there. 

Wash smiled first, and then saw what he had. A pumpkin, with a face carved in and everything. 

"Oh! Just what we needed!" 

"There's more to it," Maine said, and then a loud, screechy _MEOW_ came from the pumpkin. Wash froze. 

"Maine-" 

Maine grinned and lifted the top off the pumpkin. "Reach in. Go ahead." 

Wash stepped forward and reached in, pulling out the tiniest ball of striped orange fluff. Great big E.T. eyes faced him, blue tinged with green. Wash's heart stopped and his jaw dropped and his eyes got as wide as the dorky alien-looking cat's. 

"Maine," Wash whispered, pulling the little cheesepuff closer, "Is it- is it-" 

"It's ours." 

Wash wanted to cry. 

Maine set down the pumpkin and put the lid back on it. "Go inside and get acquainted while I run back to the car to get his stuff." 

Wash sat down on the couch with the cat, eyes shining, and let it sniff him and then pet it and watched as it hung off his hands and arms, claws digging in. Wash had never loved something so immediately. 

And he had just been thinking how they needed a cat. 

"Pumpkin," he said, and the name stuck. By the time Maine came back in, that was the cat's name, and the cat was the other half of Wash's heart and he loved it more than anything else in the world, except Maine who was on par. 

Maine came in and sat down on the couch, and they had a party to go to but right then it was about the two of them and Pumpkin. 

"Happy Halloween," Maine said, pressing his lips to Wash's temple. Wash smiled and leaned toward Maine as Pumpkin crawled around both of them. 

"Happy Halloween, Maine." 

"Hey, Wash, I've been thinking..." 

Maine trailed off as Wash caught Pumpkin and drew him back to the couch before he fell off. Wash looked over at Maine and raised his eyebrows. "Hmm?" 

"You, uh- already wear that ring every day. I just-" He cleared his throat and Wash realized what was about to come. "I wanted to know if you wanted to start actively pursuing the next part of our lives together." 

And it was simple, and Maine had already done the more eloquent proposal, and it was well past time. Wash was done with school finally and they were moving toward stability and PFL was going well. They had good friends, and now Pumpkin. Things were stable. There was no better time. 

"Absolutely." 

Maine leaned over with a hand on Wash's jaw and kissed him, sweet and long and slow, and all was good and all was well. Wash loved him. So dearly. 

And he'd remember this moment, and maybe he'd forget something, and he'd always have Maine and that would be the part that mattered most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeeeeeee this fic is done! i hope you enjoyed my meandering plot and whack writing style bc i had no idea what i was doing while writing this but YEETETH thanks for reading!


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